


Trying to Survive

by oooknuk



Series: Love and Other Bruises [3]
Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: A return to Willison holds more than pleasant memories for the guys





	Trying to Survive

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters you recognise will belong to Alliance. No infringement of copyright intended. Not for profit. 
> 
> Warnings: violence, language, m/m, bits of dead animals 
> 
> Author's notes: This story assumes you have read "Love and other bruises", and like that story, makes (brief) non-graphic reference to a rape in the past.

I come up behind him as he is knotting his tie, pulling a face as he always does. He doesn't like ties, which, with his hands as they are, he finds difficult to fasten.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Ray?" I slip my hands round him, and take over the knot making. He lets his own hands fall to his side.

"Ben, we have to go. It's Welsh we're talking about, remember?"

"But I'm sure he would understand ...."

He cuts me off. "I'm OK. I'm going. End of story. Anyway, it's no big deal."

I finish with his tie, and for a moment, we look at each other in the mirror, my dark head alongside his fair-haired one, my smoothed down locks a counterpoint to his tamed spikes. He puts his hand over mine, which is resting on his chest, and squeezes it.

"Time to go," he says.

 

* * *

There are not many people here at the crematorium. Lieutenant Welsh, of course; a few faces I know, some well, some not, from the 27th precinct, one or two people I don't recognise at all. The low turnout is hardly surprising. Welsh's father had spent the last twenty five or so years of his life shut up in his apartment, drinking himself into what turned out to be not so early a grave after all. Ray nods politely, but not warmly, at the same faces I know. No-one comes over, and I catch at least one look of outright disapproval, whether aimed at Ray or both of us, I can't be sure. Ray either doesn't see it, or simply ignores it. He left the police department behind a year and a half ago, and whatever regrets he has about being forced to give up his work as a detective, he has none about being apart from the small minded bigots who made his life hell and who abandoned him, in some of the darkest days of his life. I stay close to him. I can imagine the memories this must be stirring, but there is nothing on his face but cool disinterest.

I am pleased to see, talking to other mourners, the lieutenant's brother, Sheriff Wilson Welsh, whom I haven't seen since we helped him out that time over the little local difficulties they were having in Willison. We don't get a chance to speak to him beforehand, but after the brief and simple service, he comes and greets us warmly.

"How you doing, Constable? Kowalski? It's good to see you both."

Ray shakes his hand, and gives him a genuine smile. I too shake his hand.

"We're well, Sheriff. I'm sorry for your loss." He grimaces.

"Well, you can't say it was much of a shock. Seventy eight's not too bad for a drunk." A shadow crosses Ray's face - he is thinking of other things. The sheriff notices, and changes the subject. "Hey, Ray, Harding tells me you got a great job now, pays more than he gets. Got anything going for a burned out small town cop?"

Ray gives him an appraising look. "Sure, we can always use muscle. You serious?"

Sheriff Welsh laughs and shakes his head. "No, not really. Hate to have to move back to Chicago after all this time. What about you, Constable? How you finding it back here again?"

I glance sideways at Ray, who smirks. "It ... has its compensations." The older man looks at him, and at me - I knew his brother has told him about our relationship, but I wasn't sure, until this moment, if he accepted it.

"It looks good on you both, that's all I can say." He puts his hand on my partner's shoulder. "Ray, I was hoping you'd be here - I've been meaning to talk to you about something... " With an apologetic look at me, Ray lets himself be led off, and I see the lieutenant making his way over, with a young woman - his daughter, Elizabeth.

"Ben, thanks for coming. Ray all right?"

"Yes, sir. Elizabeth, how nice to see you again." She takes my hand. I've met her only a few times over the years - she lives with her mother, and has been away at college. She's blossomed into a beauty, tall like her father, with his eyes, but in every other respect, I presume she must take after her mother.

"Mr Fraser, I was hoping to see you here. Did Dad tell you? I'm finishing school soon, and then I'll be back here in Chicago."

"That will be nice for your father," I say politely. I can see Ray is watching us talk, while he listens to Wilson Welsh. I smile at him, and he grins back.

"... new display at the Field Museum," I hear her saying.

"I'm so sorry, Elizabeth, my mind was elsewhere - you were saying?"

"I said, I wondered if you would like to go with me to see the new display on Arctic life at the museum?" The request is innocent, but suddenly I realise that I've seen the expression on her face elsewhere, on other women. Despite myself, I feel a blush starting, and like an idiot, I begin to stammer.

"That... that would be...."

But then the lieutenant interrupts, taking his daughter's arm.

"Beth, can I talk to you?" And he moves her away. I see her pout.

 

* * *

"Beth, what do you think you're doing?" I ask my daughter as soon as we're out of earshot of Ben.

"Nothing, Dad," she says, all innocence. "I was just asking Fraser if he'd like to come to the museum with me. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

I don't mind admitting I love my daughter, but she drives me nuts sometimes - just like her mother.

"First of all, young lady, in case you haven't noticed, we're at your grandfather's funeral and not a singles club. Secondly, you're embarrassing him. And third, he's married."

"No, he's not," she says sulkily. I sigh. I hate doing things like this. I turn her so she's facing Ben, standing near Ray and my brother.

"See the moody blond guy next to Fraser and your uncle? That's his partner. And believe me, Ben is taken."

She shakes me loose. "God, Dad. That's disgusting - you mean Fraser and Kowalski? What a waste." She flounces off, while I meditate on the open-mindedness of youth. I can't see what her point is. Disgusting is not the word that comes to mind when I see those two together. Mind you, I've known both of them a while - Ben for nearly six years, Ray for four. I've seen them go through some rough shit, some of it together, some of it separately. Apart from the fact they're both wearing suits, there's no difference to my eye to the way they were when they worked together. They don't hug, hold hands or kiss in public, and the matching gold rings they wear are understated. They were always close, always moved liked a well-oiled team - well, except for that one time, and they sorted that out. Always spent more time together than apart - both of them were pretty lonely guys, and they liked each other right from the start.

Sure, I was a bit surprised when Ben told me that things had moved beyond that, but once I got over it, I thought, well, that's the logical step, for them. They never hurt anyone, or broke up anyone's marriage - and Ben's been better for Kowalski than a hundred wives would have been, seeing him through the attack, nursing him back to health - hell, bringing him back from the dead. And it's not like Ben doesn't get anything out of it. He's a lot happier now than he was when he first started working with Ray Vecchio. Like I said, he was pretty lonely, scared of getting hurt after the psycho bitch from hell pretty much drove a train through his love life and staked him in the heart on the way. There's a few straight couples could learn a thing or two from the way those two treat each other. And I'd bet a year's pay the vows they made in that little commitment ceremony they went through a few months back will last longer than those in most church weddings, too.

I love my daughter, but she ain't good enough for either of them.

 

* * *

I see Welsh and his daughter talking to Ben. Beth's a pretty girl, but she's got a high opinion of herself, and she don't like me much. First time I met her, at the station, she gave me an up and down look, and then just put me right out of her mind for the rest of the conversation. Then I met her the once at Welsh's place after the attack, when I wasn't that long out of the hospital, all skinny, hands a mess, worse limp than I got now, and you could practically see her tracing out the L on my forehead. She ignored me then too. She had a thing for Ben, plain as the nose on her pretty face, but like that's really unusual, right? Ben was oblivious, of course - nearly always is.  I keep an eye out for my partner when I see Welsh and her coming over. Wilson's talking to me about the great camping they got up around Willison, up in the mountains. It's a nature lover's paradise, he says - bird watching by the lake, hiking, mountain climbing. Says he knows a guy trying to sell some holiday cabins up that way. Wilson's got shares in the company, making plans for the retirement he's delayed by a year. I'm telling him that, yeah, we might be interested, when I see Ben turn that real attractive fire engine red he goes when he's embarrassed. I don't need to be the detective I used to be to work out what's brought that on. I've excused myself and started to move over to him, when I see Welsh is hauling his daughter off. Good old Welsh. Nipped that in the bud.

Ben gives me a relieved smile. Wilson's followed me over.

I tease him. "You hitting on chicks behind my back, Ben?"

"I assure you, Ray, I would never do that at a funeral." That cute blush is coming back.

"Oh, so you admit that you do it other times, do ya, Fraser?" He opens his mouth to protest before he finally works out I'm joking. Must've left his sense of humour in his other pants. Well, I'll admit it's not the most fun I had in a while either. I know Ben's worried about me, because the thing about me and my parents' funeral - actually, the funeral and me not being there. But to be honest, that's not the thing that's bugging me. Seeing the assholes from the precinct is worse. Wearing a suit and being polite to them is worse than that. And I hate that it's Welsh, even though he and his old man didn't see eye to eye over much - I love the old guy, he's been the best friend we could hope for, and we'd pretty much do anything for him.

Wilson's telling Ben what he told me about the holiday property. I think we should look into it. I've always felt bad about Ben locking himself away down here in the city for me, and we get away at the weekends as much as we can. Maybe a permanent place of our own might make things better for him, not that he ever complains. Truth is, Ben's the happiest I've ever known him. Married life suits him, even when it's to a beat up ex-cop with a rotten temper and experimental hair.

The lieutenant walks back over and joins us.

"Glad you came, Ray - I appreciate it."

"It's nothing, Lieu. Thanks for defending Ben's honour."

Wilson grins, Ben glares at me, and Welsh gives me a rueful smile.

"Better that than scraping her off the ground after you pounded her into it, Ray."

I give Ben a sideways look, and try to hide my smile. "Hell, you know me, boss, you touch my partner, and you're dead meat. She OK?"

"She'll get over it. She wasn't too thrilled when I explained Fraser was taken."

Ben interrupts. "Gentlemen, I don't want to be rude, but could we possibly talk about something else?"

Welsh smirks, but we take pity on Ben's obvious embarrassment. Wilson's still all fired up about us coming up to Willison.

"You know, guys, Harding's coming up in a couple of weeks - why don't you drive up with him and go camping for the weekend?"

I look at my partner.

"Ben, what do you think?"

"I'd like to, Ray - if you don't mind?"

"No - it'd be fun. So long as we don't have to stay in that flea pit motel like we did last time."

Wilson defends his town's reputation right on cue. "Hey, Kowalski, it wasn't so bad..."

"Oh yeah? So how come they charge by the hour, and there's free rubbers on the nightstand?"

"You're kidding!"

I roll my eyes at the confusion on his ugly, honest face. Everyone's lost their sense of humour today. Now there's a surprise.

We chat some more and then the two Welshes have to see off the other mourners. Ben and I make our excuses and go. I took the whole day off - I've got paperwork I can do at home, and Ben will be there too. I feel guilty to be enjoying an afternoon at home with him on account of Welsh's dad dying, but we haven't seen that much of each other lately, with him on early shifts, and me working late most evenings. There's the weekends, when we're not doing chores, but time to sit, to talk, to make love - that's been in short supply the last couple of weeks. I miss my Ben.

He fixes us a late lunch while I strip out of my suit. Hate suits. The only thing I really don't like about my new job is that I have to wear one, but since I don't know from day to day who I might have to meet with, it's the only way to go. The only good thing about them is that Ben thinks I look nice in them, and that's a big incentive. Every morning when I put one on, I think Mum and Dad would be so damn proud if they could see me now - good suit-wearing job, decent pay, no danger, no bad guys. And every morning, I know it doesn't matter that I'm the only one who doesn't think this is a step up from being a police officer. Every morning, I put on the suit, wish I was still a cop, that they were still here, to nag me about getting the better job I got because they died and I got fucked. I hate suits.

Ben's brought some reports home, and we sit out in our garden with our paperwork, with Dief sniffling around under the bushes, hoping to find a rodent that hasn't worked out that living in our yard with a fucking big half-wolf at home isn't smart.

I catch Ben watching me.

"What's the matter - otter smuggling in the Territories not as much fun as it used to be?"

He grins. "No, I was just admiring the way the sun was catching your hair."

"You're sappy, you know that, Ben?"

"Are you complaining?"

"No."

He gets up and stands behind me, his arms loose around my shoulders. He kisses the top of my head.

"Interesting?" he asks, meaning the stuff I'm reading.

"Not really - we got a couple of bands visiting the main stores next week. I just got to review the policing arrangements." I work for a big city firm, in the entertainment division that runs the chain of music and video stores they own. I'm second in charge of security, which means I get to supervise training, organise checks on new employees, and overseeing stuff like VIPs doing promo visits. Sounds exciting - it's not, but it pays well, and apart from the late nights sometimes, I usually get the weekends free. Never thought I'd miss working weekends.

"The funeral today - seeing the officers ... Were you all right?" he asks quietly. That's my Ben, always thinking about me.

I squeeze the hand on my collar bone.

"I'm OK, Ben. No point wanting what I can't have." He comes around in front of my chair, and kneels, so he can look into my face. He knows I hated having to give up the force, knows I hate why. There's nothing anyone can do about it - with my hands and my busted leg, let alone the fact I'm living in a same-sex relationship, the best I could have done was ride a desk until I retired. At least what I'm doing now, I'm active and have real responsibility. If anything, Ben's the one I should worry about, but he's never talked about it or given me a hint he's unhappy being stuck down here with me. Just the opposite, in fact.

"Do you ever want to go back to Canada - do real Mountie stuff again?"

I see his face cloud for a second, but then he lifts his beautiful eyes to mine, clear and open as ever.

"Sometimes," he admits. "But I'll be forty next year, Ray. There comes a time when you get too old to be chasing criminals across an icefield - I'll admit that I'm not quite at that point yet, but I've been seriously injured a few times. The next time, I'll probably be stuck behind a desk for good anyway, like Buck Frobisher. At least here, I have you, we have friends, I have a useful job."

"We could move up there in a few years."

"Would you like to? Because they would give us the same rights as a heterosexual couple, and you could work up there, if you needed to."

"That'd be good, Ben. Give me a couple of years to build up my rep again, put some money away. Then we'll go." His face lights up - I've just given him a precious gift.

Looking at Ben, I have to admire the way the sun is playing on his hair too, and I realise how long it's been since we made love in the afternoon. I can see the thought has also crossed his mind, and his expression changes. Horny Fraser is pretty damn sexy. He takes my paperwork out of my hands, and puts it carefully on the table, with a book over it to stop it blowing away, then leads me into our living room, onto the sofa. That's what I love - sometimes he leads, sometimes I do, but it's always good. He's always been so careful with me, knowing that I had to be pretty screwed up by the rape. That's no surprise, knowing what he's like in everyday life, but in my wildest dreams, I couldn't have imagined what a considerate, inventive lover Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, would be. I grin, remembering how Frannie Vecchio and half the women in Chicago were warm for my lover's form - if only they'd known, they would have chained themselves to his leg, just to get a piece of what is all mine.

He lays me down on the sofa, and claims my mouth, hungrily, like he hasn't kissed me for months, laying his big solid body over mine, pinning me on the sofa. His tongue is thrusting in my mouth, but his hand is at my fly, opening it, and reaching through my boxers for my dick, which knows its owner and jumps into his hand. Slowly he begins to stroke me, while we kiss. He can nearly bring me off with his kissing alone, and I know he can get off by making me come. For all the passion of his mouth, he takes his time, letting me enjoy the feel of his weight against me, his hand on me, his mouth on me. His free hand is under my body, in my jeans, massaging my ass. I love this, I feel so enclosed, so protected. Could never feel this with Stella - for one thing, she's not the protective type. I can't get my hands between us to touch him, so I lift his shirt, and run them along his satiny back. Such smooth skin for a man - no more hair than a child, and so hot. His hands are always warm, his skin like a furnace. Even with his slow jacking, I can feel I'll come soon.

"Ben, " I pant, "I'm going to..."

"Let it, let it go, Ray," he whispers fiercely, biting at my lower lip. The tender sharpness of the sensation is all I need, and I spill all over his hand. He hugs me tighter than ever, still nibbling at my lips, licking them.

"God, Ben, you're so good to me, " I breathe. He smiles, and kisses me one last time, before hopping up to find a washcloth, leaving me sprawled like a slut on the sofa. He comes back and wipes me off, and I can see that he came too, just from rubbing on me, and watching me. I pull him down on me again.

"What did I do to deserve you, Ben Fraser?"

He pulls a face. "I think you must have been very, very bad in your former life, Ray Kowalski."

"If that's what being bad does for you, Ben, remind me to make sure I rob a few banks before I die in this life." He settles into my arms, half on me, half between me and the back of the sofa. Through the glass doors, I can still see Dief in the garden, as I smell the special scent of his human, Ben's silky head on my shoulder, his broad hand resting on my stomach, gently rubbing.

Making love in the afternoon is great.

 

* * *

The next two weeks got crazy - there were some unexpected problems with one of our guest acts getting a little too friendly with some groupies, and said groupies getting way too friendly with restricted substances. Took a bit of sorting out, and a lot of ass chewing from my boss. I was home late every night, and had to work most of the weekend - hardly saw Ben at all. But by a lot of shitshifting, and making my poor secretary sweat her tail off, I managed to clear my desk so Ben can pick me up Friday at five - he's already picked up Welsh from the precinct. We put the big guy in front - he needs the leg room. We should be in Willison by eight.

Ben's gotten to be a better driver now than he was when he first hit Chicago - he spent months ferrying me around when my hands were still so bad I couldn't tie my shoe laces, and after we got married, I realised I couldn't keep insisting on driving - it was *our* car, and we wanted to be equal in everything. Not that he still doesn't make me nuts the way he obeys every single little traffic rule, and sticks religiously to the speed limit. But before we were married, we made our own private promises to each other - silly things we didn't want to say in front of our friends, but what we still wanted to say. We weren't ever going to punch each other - like we'd ever want to, after the Henry Anderson thing. Ben swore he wouldn't bug me about being a slob. Much. I said I was never, ever gonna nag him again about his driving. Well, try not to. I've been married, I know in the end it's the little things that wear you down. All the same ... The combination of sitting in the back seat, Ben driving and Welsh talking to him about some liaison thing was kinda making me cranky. Trust Ben to notice that, though, and when he sees me glaring at him in the rear view mirror, he lifts an eyebrow, then gives me that special, private smile of his. I can't stay mad when he does that - I just grin back. I figure he'll probably let me drive the rest of the weekend.

Eventually Welsh remembers that he's talking about stuff I probably don't want to listen to, and switches to non-cop talk for the rest of the trip. He ribs me a little about whether I'm gonna be playing baseball this time round. His brother already told me that the team got sold, and most of the people I met last time have gone - the coach, Olivia Murtagh, most of the players. To tell the truth, I was a little nervous about going back to Willison for that reason - last time I was there, I was like, the hero, hitting the home run, helping them find the real crook. Now I'm the ex-cop, can't hardly hold a bat let along smack the ball into the scoreboard. A lot has changed in two and a half years. But I remember Willison being a nice place. I know Ben enjoyed being out of Chicago, and pretty much anything he likes, is usually OK with me.

It's sundown by the time we get to Wilson Welsh's trailer. He still hasn't done anything with his plot, which is fine since that's where Ben and me are gonna set up our tent. That's a laugh, right? Kowalski, camping? Got used to it up in Canada, and of course, it's even better down here without the frostbite. Ben did never get me that badge for sleeping on the floor - I remind him about it every so often. Figure I must be up to Eagle Scout standard now, all the places he's taken us.

First chance I get, I dive into Wilson's tiny bathroom and get out of my suit and into my tee-shirt and jeans. Welsh has unbuttoned too - I don't see how him and Wilson are gonna fit in the trailer, but that's their problem - he is _not_ sharing with me and Ben. Wilson breaks out the beers - mineral water for Ben - and he's fired up the barbecue. Man, this is the good life - sitting out on a warm summer's evening, with the people I like most in the world, drinking beer, eating steak. I can feel the bad mood that's been building all week just leaking away, and I can see Ben watching me, smiling, seeing me relax. Out of respect for the Welshes we sit apart, but he keeps looking over at me, not enough to be rude to our host, but enough to remind me who he'd rather be alone with. The brothers talk about their dad, which isn't as morbid as it sounds, and then Ben starts telling them about his father, and some of the crazy things he and Buck Frobisher used to get up to. I listen - don't feel much like adding a dad story of my own. Hardly ever talk about my parents now, even with Ben.

Ben's the only one who's sober by the time we all quit yakking, and it's a good thing he already popped the tent and rolled out the sleeping bags, because I am in no state to help him. I crawl into the tent and curl up on top of the bags which he's zipped together.

"Come on, Ray, you'll have to get up." Ben's taking my shoes off. My face is buried in the sleeping bag

"Don't wanna."

"Ray - move." Command voice. Oooh. Pissy Mountie. The devil makes me want to see more of this.

"Make me." Just for a minute, I forget I'm dealing with a man who weighs at least thirty pounds more than me, and who keeps himself in damn good shape. Ben quickly reminds me. Suddenly I'm yanked out of the tent, feet first, the sleeping bag still clenched in my fists. He grabs me around the middle and dumps me on my ass on the grass outside.

"Hey!" My only answer is the sleeping mat hitting me in the head.

"What the fuck....?" My pickled brain cells detect - detect, hah! - that I've woken up Neanderthal Ben. He's standing over me, not smiling, but his eyes are making a liar out of his mouth. OK, I asked for it, and I suppose making your partner who hardly ever drinks cope with one drunken ex-cop is not that fair. I tilt my head up and squint at him.

"Give me a kiss."

He kneels in front of me. "No."

"Kiss me."

"No," he says softly, but he leans into me, so I can feel his breath on my skin.

"Yes," I say as I touch his lips with mine.

He growls at me. "You are impossible, Ray Kowalski.

"Yeah, but you love me anyway."

"More fool me." But he doesn't pull away, and then he kisses me back. "You going to let go of the sleeping bag?"

"Nah."

He stands up. He picks up the mat and spreads it out, then tugs on the sleeping bag. I won't give it up. He deals with that by simply putting me in a head lock and ...

"Fuck you, Fraser, no fair tickling!" He is pitiless, and even when I am screaming on the ground for mercy, he doesn't give up. I still won't let go of the bag - it's a matter of honour now, even though I'm dying for lack of air. Then he does the impossible - he hoists me up by my waistband and throws me over his shoulder.

''Where are you taking me, you son of a bitch?" I'm panting hard. This is getting serious.

"Down to the lake. You obviously need sobering up." That makes me panic and wriggle, but he just holds onto me tighter. I know he won't hurt me, but his idea of personal comfort and mine are two different things. Honour be damned - I do not want to be dunked at this time of night.

"You win, OK? Uncle!"

He tips me onto the ground, and glares at me.

"Bag."

I hand it over, but then, dammit, he picks me up again and puts me back over his shoulder.

"Let me go, Ben! No fair!" He marches back to our tent, and I'm wondering just how mad he is. He throws the bag on the mat, and with me still on his shoulder, kneels down, unzips it, opens it up and dumps me onto it, knocking all the wind out of me. Then he piles on top of me.

"Don't make me do this again, Ray," he says in a warning tone, but his eyes are twinkling. Oh yeah, not until the next time, Ben. I promise. He rolls off me. I sprawl out some more, and start undoing my fly. God help us if Welsh or his brother decide to take a moonlit walk. He bats my hands away and finishes the job, then strips off his shirt, undoes his own pants and takes them off. He lies down, draws the sleeping bag over us, moves his arm under my head, then licks the hollow of my jaw, just in the place that makes my toes tingle.

"Bet you wouldn't treat Dief like this," I mutter, even as I curl into him, and take his dick in my hand - not to do anything with it, but because I like holding the heavy warm weight of it.

"Dief," he says, kissing me gently, "can hold his liquor. Go to sleep, Ray." But I can't, not yet, not when I can see all the stars above us, and hold him, feel his warmth. I want to stay awake for a long time. I fall asleep in seconds.

 

* * *

I am up before him, which would be my habit even if he hadn't been three sheets to the wind last night. There's not a lot of him to see, watching him as I am, cross-legged on the grass, drinking tea in the bright early morning light. He has a tendency to burrow very deeply into the bedding, and all I can see is his flattened 'morning' hair, and one ear. A very beautiful ear, but one which, for some strange reason, is inciting all sorts of un-Mountie-like thoughts. For instance, if I were to.... No, I mustn't. It's not nice. Ray needs his sleep. But on the other hand, after what he did last night ... but I repaid him for that, and I can't say I was totally displeased with us ending up under the stars instead of the tent. No, if I am entirely honest, I have to admit that my thoughts about Ray's ear are entirely down to the fact that the love of my life, my partner, brings out the absolute worst in me sometimes - at least when it comes to taking liberties with another person's altogether too touchable ... person. And meanwhile, his ear. Is available. And if I just ....

Oh, what the heck - what is it Ray is always telling me? 'Loosen up, Ben.' 'Move with the groove.' 'Go with the flow.' 'Get with the programme.' No - that last one doesn't sound right. But I can always blame him. And his ear is very, very tempting.

I make my preparations, choose my weapon and lie down next to him. Then I stick the blade of grass very carefully into his earhole, and twirl it round. Pull it out. Wait. Tickle again. Wait. At last, a lazy hand comes up to swat the now removed nuisance. I tickle his ear again. The hand comes back. I move in again, but this time Ray catches me and slaps my wrist.

"Go 'way." Not grumpy - more sleepy and dazed. Not good enough. I employ the grass blade again, and am gratified by Ray's instant move to an upright sitting position. The expression on his face is not exactly loving, but he is still confused and utterly edible. However, I am not entirely without pity and know what his questing hand is looking for. I put the mug in his hands, and it is raised to his lips and sipped without any conscious thought being involved at all. One. Two Thr....

"Ben - Smarties." Mug held out. Eyes closed. Synapses not quite connecting

Carefully count in the required number, stir - tap the mug to indicate completion of required task. He raises it again and sips. Now the eyes open and look at me with proper comprehension.

"You woke me up." Flat statement. No use denying it.

"Yes, of course. Why should you stay in bed when your snoring woke me up?"

"Don't snore."

"You do - worse than Dief.

"Don't. Snore."

"You do when you've been drinking, Ray."

"Bastard."

"You know, I have told you on a number of occasions that the epithet 'bastard' is completely inaccurate in my case - my parents were legally married, and several years had elapsed before my birth...."

"Give me a minute, Fraser, and I'll call you a whole lot worse things." He doesn't look hung over, just sleepy, morning, slightly cross Ray. Edible Ray.

He squints in the bright light, and finishes his coffee, and very carefully places his cup on the ground away from me. Then in one fluid movement, he skins out of the sleeping bag and launches himself at me. Not expecting quite this level of activity so early from him, I am taken by surprise, and suddenly find myself pinned flat on my back with a lap full of vengeful male. He grabs my wrists, pulls them over my head, then leans forward and growls into my face. "Nobody sticks grass in my ear and lives to tell the tale, Benton Fraser."

"Oh dear."

"You said it, buddy."

"So, the actual execution - how are you proposing to carry it out, given your position." He nibbles at my chin, and appears to be giving the matter serious thought.

"Suffocation, I think," then he claims my mouth as if he is indeed trying to suck the life out of me, his long tongue dancing with his willing victim's, grinding his hips against me.

I hear a throat being cleared, and Ray goes very still.

"Welsh, right?" he says quietly.

"Yes."

"Uh oh. Busted."

He sits up, gives me a little grin, then twists round to face his former boss.

"Hi, Lieu," he says airily, with rather more aplomb than I would have managed, if I had been caught sitting on another man's lap - wearing only boxers and a tee-shirt - in the middle of a field. On the other hand, I was the one being sat on in said field. Finally I find the courage to look past Ray's torso, and smile brightly at the lieutenant.

"Good morning, sir."

Welsh is smiling - well, smirking, to be blunt.

"Gentlemen. If you've finished your calisthenics, my brother has got breakfast going." Then he turns and walks back to his brother's trailer. Ray gets off me slowly, carefully.

"Just remember, this is all your fault, Ben." He pulls on his jeans, and finds the shoes I tossed out of the tent last night when I hurled the mat at him.

"You were the one who drank too much, Ray."

"And you were the one who used grass with intent to commit a felony."

"Not a felony, Ray. Misdemeanour."

"Gross bodily harm." Well, he has a point. He hauls me up and into his arms before I have a chance to escape. "Let you off with a caution, this time, Mountie. Don't try it again."

"Understood." I grin back, and kiss him. Then we walk over to the trailer, where I can smell our breakfast waiting for us.

 

* * *

Wilson Welsh makes a mean breakfast, but the cholesterol police must be after his ass. Even Ben is slightly stunned by the volume of eggs and bacon and hash browns, and he eats a lot more than I do. Wilson looks sheepish.

"Did I overdo it, guys?"

"Just a tad, brother," Welsh says. I eat some toast and drink the great coffee. No-one's in much of a hurry to go anywhere. Welsh is here to sort out some paperwork and to chew the fat - literally - with his brother. Ben wants to explore, but he's going to cook tonight so he needs to go into town and pick up supplies. I'm feeling too lazy to move, and besides I wanted to do some sketching in the morning light.

"You want me to leave Dief with you?" Ben asks as he's getting ready to drive in.

"Nah, take the furball with you." Dief barks. "Well you are a furball, but I love you." I gave up being embarrassed about talking to the mutt a long time ago - it's a lost cause.

I take up a place under the tree near the little bridge and get drawing, and don't notice the lieutenant until he's almost right over me. He collapses onto the rug.

"You're getting good at this, Kowalski."

"I'd be better if I had more time - never seems to be enough these days."

"Don't I know it. I'm counting the days until I retire."

"Four years?"

"A man's got to have something to live for, Ray."

"So what're you gonna do with all that free time, boss?"

"Fish. Read. Fish."

I grin. "Sounds like a full programme." One day I'm gonna draw him, looking like this, all relaxed. But I feel shy about asking him. He's not my boss any more, but there's still that little barrier, like the way Ben always calls him 'Sir". Neither of us can imagine calling him 'Harding' - what a name, worse than 'Benton' or 'Stanley'.

"You gonna look at these cabins Wilson keeps going on about?"

"Sure - anything to keep him happy. You never know, we might like 'em."

He snorts with disgust. "Damn yuppie condos, that's what they are. Not real camping. You'll see - Ben'll hate 'em."

"You're probably right, boss." He watches me for a bit more.

"Boss, can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Do you think he's happy down here? I mean, not being in Canada."

"He's happy where you are, Ray."

"Yeah, but is that enough, do you think?"

"Dunno, Kowalski. Seems one of you would have to give up something, whichever place you went. He's made his choice, and from where I stand, he looks fine with it."

"Thanks, boss." He climbs to his feet, stretching old cramped knees.

"You keep asking stuff like that, Ray, and I'm gonna start charging counselling rates."

"Put it on the tab, Lieu."

He grins and walks off. I like to think I know what Ben feels about stuff, and he doesn't try to hide things, but it's been the habit of a lifetime to hide his emotions. I have to trust that Welsh is right and that Ben thinks I'm worth it.

Ben takes longer than I expected, but the reason is no surprise. He got chatting at the grocery store with some old guy called Ellerman, who turns out to be some world class expert on animals. Ben's thrilled, and has accepted an invitation to tea for both of us tomorrow. The only problem is the guy won't let us bring Dief, on account of his cat, but the fuzzface would probably rather be down here pestering the Welsh brothers anyway. I forget it for now. Ben offloads his purchases, then we make up a lunch pack and follow the little river that runs from the hills right through Willison. It's rich country, farms and a few horse studs.

"Remind you of home?" I ask him as we're letting our lunch settle, resting on the river bank.

"Not really - it's all so tame. It's very beautiful, but I like my pleasures ... a little wild." He gives me a sultry look. You wouldn't think he could carry it off. Well, there's a few things that surprised me about Ben, and that's one of them.

"Ben Fraser, you have become such an animal since you started getting laid on a regular basis."

"I'm sorry, Ray - is that a bad thing?"

"You know damn well it isn't." He's only half concentrating on the chit chat. He's got that faraway look in his eyes again.

"Ben, " I say, putting my hand on his neck, "we won't stay here forever. We'll go to Canada."

"I know we will, Ray." That's enough to bring him back. We clear up and set off again, and only return to the trailer around 6.00. I'm beat - I'm a lot fitter than I used to be, but walking's more of a problem for me wth my bad leg than it is for Ben. Glad he's the one who's cooking. This time I watch how much I drink, and we make it into the tent without a tussle. I need to be sober tonight.

 

* * *

I can feel something touching - no, licking my ear. A tongue. Definitely a tongue, the hot, dampness of it, swirling around the lobe, up over the arch, playing inside, then returning to tease the sensitive flesh below. The tongue is replaced by teeth, gently nibbling. It reminds me of the time my grandmother had a kitten, newly weaned, that would jump on my bed in the mornings and suckle at my earlobe. Would keep it up until I made it stop. But I don't want this to stop. The nipping teeth tug carefully at my ear, then my earlobe is sucked, the tongue adding a delightful sensation. The creature works its way down my neck, licking, biting carefully. Hmmm. Too big to be a kitten. Not a cat at all. I probably should stop it, but I can't move my hands. Oh well. It's doing no harm. In fact, it's rather nice. Rather ... exciting.

I can feel the not-cat's breath on my shoulder now, tickling, cooling against the damp where it's licking its way down my chest, and ... oh dear. Perhaps I really shouldn't let it do that. It can't be right. But the sensation against my nipple is too delicious, sending little shocks through me, up to my brain, and down into my groin. The maddening suck, nibble, lick continues. I can feel the nub is rock hard, being pulled gently by sharp little teeth, warm breath against cool flesh. At last the not-quite cat tires of this, and moves down. Oh, that tickles. Right there, that sensitive spot on my flank. It seems to know that this is the place to work on, and it bites harder, without pain, but definitely ... oh yes. I really should stop this.

The tongue licks, nibbles, sucks downwards. The edge of my navel is thoughtfully tortured, the little tongue flicking in and out, putting delightful pressure on my stomach muscles. The not-cat finds this fascinating, and keeps it up to the edge of pain, until I must wriggle, and then it stops. And then it moves .. down. Oh dear. I can feel it tugging, kneading at my pubic hair, tonguing at the border of it, and in another second it will... no, this must...no it can't do that.... please don't... please.... oh please....

I open my eyes, and see my attacker. Not a cat, but definitely a carnivore, a golden furred, blue eyed feline,  barely visible in the pre-dawn light, lapping the tip of my penis with delicate little licks, watching me with a predatory gleam in his darkened eyes... waiting for me to wake. He gives me a feral smile, widening the motion of his clever tongue, all the while watching me, watching him. He must have been at this for a while, for I am rock hard and leaking, which he licks up. Suddenly, carefully, he takes the head into his mouth and sucks. I go to move my hands in reflex, but he is holding them, the heels of his hands hard on the ground, the fingers curled over my wrists. The restraint is an illusion, merely a warning to keep still. I relax, and watch my lover worship me with his mouth, taking me more and more into that hot mouth, laving me with his tongue, sucking and licking, until I can feel my testicles move up and I know I am going to... I do come, into that beautiful mouth, as he keeps licking, swallowing, kissing me. At last he sets me free, reluctantly.

"Ray..." I murmur, but he puts his finger to his lips, to caution silence. He moves back from his position between my knees. He is already half dressed, and picking up his shirt and boots, he goes outside the tent. Puzzled, I hastily dress also and follow him outside. It is just barely light out. Ray is never up this early, unless he hasn't gone to bed at all. I always have to wake him, unless the alarm is set, and we only make love in the morning after he has had a chance to wallow. But today he is a man with a plan, as he would say. The morning is cool, with that peculiar damp, almost metallic smell of night air lingering. He is standing outside, waiting, his hand on Diefenbaker's head. As I emerge, he turns and smiles at me. Without a word, he reaches for my hand, and taking it, leads me on, our wolf following. The light is rising, and we can find our path easily, although the sun is not quite up. We walk in silence in the coolness, down a worn track, to the edge of Lake Willison, to where he has already laid a rug, and a pack. He must have been up for a while, I think.

He smiles at me again, and then sits on the rug, patting behind him to encourage me to sit. I do so, with a leg on either side of him, my head resting on his shoulder. I can smell the scent of Ray, and with a slight movement, can return the favour and suckle at his ear, which tickles him. He pushes me away gently, and again puts his finger to his lips, then points out over the lake, with the mist hanging low over the water, the rising light catching. Then I can see why we are here. It is the time for the waterfowl, and the other birds, to begin the day, and we are greeted by a chorus of wings being flapped and stretched, mates being called, territories being marked. The scene is primeval - no sign of man's presence, except we two, here on our rug, a wolf lolling, warm beside us. The dawn stretches pink and gold and blue, changing colour, brightening, with every second. We watch, entranced, listening to the avian chorus marking the morning, marking the new day. Ray sighs, and turns back, into me, mouth against my ear. "Happy birthday, Ben," he says softly, then he captures my mouth, giving me the last part of his wonderful gift, sharing himself, as he has shared this sight with me.

He turns so we are chest to chest, me holding him in my arms, he pushing me back carefully until I am flat on the rug. He kisses me languidly, luxuriously, as if there is no one else in the world but us, nothing to do but taste each other, smell each other in the cool fresh dawn air. My heart fills with such a rush of tenderness and love for him, it hurts, and then I must have him, must give to him what he gave to me, but he won't set my mouth free. Instead he rubs against my hip, rubbing my groin, until I am moaning in need, as he is, softly, for our voices sound loud against the dawn. His tongue is thrusting in my mouth, in tempo with his thrusting groin, his delightful rubbing against me, until he has, miraculously, brought me to edge again, and I can tell by the dilation of his eyes, and his breathing, that he is close, that he is coming too, and we cry out, muffled against each other's face, our sounds of passion mingling with the calls of the geese taking flight, wings beating the heavy air, screams of raptors beginning a new day's hunting.

"I love you," I whisper against him, as he rests, heavy and warm, over me, the sky now blue and light behind him, the colour of his eyes.

"I know," he murmurs.

We watch the day brighten, drinking the coffee he's brought in a Thermos.

"How long have you been up?" I ask.

He looks suddenly shy.

"A couple of hours, " he admits, and I am even more surprised. "Couldn't sleep - didn't want to forget to get up. I wanted to make it special.'

"Thank you. It's wonderful." It's the right thing to say, and not just because it's true. I would do anything to bring that smile of pleasure and joy into his face. He rests back on me, long legs sticking out in front of him, totally relaxed, and at peace. My Ray.

Life is good.

 

* * *

We don't manage to escape another killer breakfast, but afterwards we decide to spend the day on the mountain. Wilson arranges for us to meet his business partner after lunch to view the cabins before we go to tea with the professor, who also lives up there. Welsh was right - the cabins are yuppie paradise. Every modern convenience, and just a little too close together. I know Ben's thinking exactly the same as me, comparing them to his dad's cabin, with the outside toilet and the old woodstove.  We listen to the sales pitch, and although I cannot for the life of me picture Fraser ever staying here, he drinks it all in, filing the information away, and manages to kill a whole half hour telling us about traditional Inuit house building. Wilson's partner looks a little glazed as we leave.

It's a twenty minute drive from the cabins, but we find Ellerman's place easy enough. It's a funny looking, modern place, built right into the side of the mountain, up on stilts, with the garage underneath. I see an older man who must be our host, standing on the balcony, watching us drive up. He comes down as we get out of the car.

"Mr Fraser, glad you could come." He's English, about sixty, short, with glasses, balding, with that annoying way some bald men have of trying to hide it by slicking their remaining hair forward. Ben introduces me.

"Mr Ellerman, this is my partner, Ray Kowalski." Ben's caught me by surprise with that - we don't socialise with people who don't know we're a couple, so the way he explains me to strangers hasn't come up. But now I know - he's not going to hide anything, and to hel with the consequences. But Ellerman doesn't even blink, just takes my hand and shakes it in his own moist one.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Kowalski ..."

"Ray," I interrupt. Mr Kowalski is my dad, is what I used to tell people.

"Well, Ray, come in."

Ben steps up, and before they've even gone into the house, he's deep in conversation with the man about birds and plumage changes. I follow, not really listening. If Ben hadn't been so keen on this, I wouldn't have agreed - don't like to share him with others, and certainly not with this old fruit. Ellerman puts a hand on Ben's shoulder as they go through the front door. This I do not like. Scowling, I go in after them.

The house might be modern on the outside, but inside, it's like a librarian's wet dream. Books all over two walls, animal prints and paintings on the others, and around the place, stuffed animals, birds, and skins - on cupboards, desks, mounted on the walls. Even Ben's surprised.

"Oh my," he says, as he stops in the middle of the room. Ellerman takes this as a compliment, even though I can tell Ben is more shocked than anything else.

"Yes, I've spent a lifetime building my collection of books. Working here means using the main research libraries can be rather difficult, and in any event, one must always have the proper references to hand."

Ben's still scanning the room, more taken by the dead animals than anything else. One huge tiger skin covers most of the wall near the window. Ben goes and looks at it more carefully.

"Sumatran?"

Ellerman's surprised Ben can identify it. "Yes. My... grandfather, shot it and bequeathed it to me. You can't do that sort of thing now, of course."

"Of course," I mutter, not liking him, this creepy room, or the whole thing, one bit. Ben shoots me a look. OK, Ray, behave. Just then a man walks in, with a large tray with a cake and a teapot on it.

"Oh, Scott, thank you. Gentlemen, this is my son, Scott." His 'son' gives us a big, toothy smile. He's big, taller than me or Ben, blond and tanned. Looks like a beach bum turned hustler, and if he's Ellerman's son, I'll eat that tiger skin right off the wall. Ben doesn't notice my look, and helps the guy with the tea things. Ellerman motions us all to sit, and soon we're all cozy around the coffee table.

"Now, shall I be mother?" he asks, and I have to turn my laugh into a choke, which gets me another sharp look from Ben. Jesus, I hate this - I got my lover turning into my great aunt, and I have to sit and watch these two closet queens pretend to be father and son. Ellerman makes a mean carrot cake, though. When we're all supplied with food and drink, he wants to find out more about Ben.

"So Mr Fraser, how do you come to be so interested in the Northern fauna?"

"Well, sir, I work for the RCMP..."

"RCMP?"

"The Royal Canadian Mounted Police." Scott sits up at that. Hmmm, could bear watching, that guy. I do that while Ben continues. "I was involved in pursuing an illegal taxidermist, and when we finally found his cache of animal skins, we had to spend a considerable amount of time identifying the various parts and hides. Your books and papers were most helpful." The little man puffs his chest out at that.

"So," Scott asks Ben slowly, "what's a Mountie doing down here? You on vacation?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I live in Chicago now. You see, I first came here on the trail of my father's killers..."

"Ben ... " I warn, quietly.

"Ah, yes. Well, anyway, I was working as a liaison at the Canadian Consulate and with the Chicago Police Department. I've now returned and taken up my old post."

Scott turns to me. "And what about you...."

"Ray, " I supply.

"Ray. Are you a Mountie too?" I have to strangle a laugh which is threatening to escape, remembering what I looked like in Turnbull's way too big uniform. I can see Ben grin out of the corner of my eye.

"Uh, no. I used to be a cop, with the Chicago PD. That's where I met Ben. He was my unofficial partner for a couple of years."

Ellerman takes charge again. "That's ... fascinating, gentlemen," dismissing me as a bug of no importance. "Now, Mr Fraser, there's a book here I'm sure you won't have seen..."

Scott stops him. "Dad, I forgot. I have to go into town. Could I have a word with you before I go?" Ellerman's surprised, but follows him into the kitchen and shuts the door behind him. Ben immediately jumps up and goes over the tiger skin. I stand beside him, watching him rub the fur and smell his fingers.

"Ben, don't you dare stick that in your mouth if you ever want another kiss." He gives me a brief, loving smile, but then he's concentrating again.

"Hmmm. Arsenic, naphthalene." He lifts the hide and peers underneath, then shows me what he's seen - a number inked in black.

"What...?" He puts his finger to his lips.

"Tell you later," he whispers. The door opens and Ellerman and Scott come back in. I think all they see is us admiring the skin, but there's an expression I don't much care for on the younger man's face. This is all kicking my cop instincts into overdrive, and the effort of staying polite and quiet is getting to me. Easy, Kowalski, I tell myself. All they've done is lie about their real relationship, be boring and not very interested in you. Not a major crime. All the same, when Scott makes his excuses and goes, I feel the tension ease. I do not care for that guy one bit.

Even Ellerman relaxes, and shows Ben the book he mentioned. I wander around, looking at the sad dusty owls, beavers and other nameless stuffed creatures, their beady - literally - eyes making me feel guilty. Hey, I want to say, I didn't shoot you. Never been big on dead animals - got nothing against live ones. I'm happy Ellerman asked us to leave Dief behind, although I haven't seen the cat that allegedly meant he was unwelcome. Bet if he does have one, it'll be one of those big old white Persians. I flash on this image of Ellerman holding his cat, stroking it, and laughing as he lowers us into a piranha tank. Get a grip, Ray. The man's harmless.

Finally, Ellerman lets Ben out of his clutches, and when he makes a half-hearted offer to have us stay for supper, even Ben's relieved when I say we've got to get back - we could call Welsh and say we've been invited for a meal, but I'm not going to.

Ellerman makes Ben promise to drop by again if he's in the neighbourhood, which is enough for me to immediately go right off any idea of buying one of the cabins Wilson Welsh is pushing. Driving away from that house, I feel a weight dropping off my shoulders.

"Man, that guy is funky. So what gives with the tiger skin?"

"Well, Ray, much as I hate to cast aspersions on the honesty of such an esteemed academic..."

"He's dirty, right?" Ben gives me another sharp look, which makes me want to stop the car and either kiss him silly or pop him one. I don't like it when he's cranky with me. "Quit it, Ben - I ain't your kid. What's he done?"

"I'm sorry, Ray. It's just ... disappointing. He really does have an impressive reputation, but I'm afraid he lied to us. That skin could not have been inherited. It's got a Field Museum accession number inked on it."

"So?"

"That means it belongs to a reference collection, and from the number itself, it's an old skin, which I could confirm from the preservatives I detected in the fur. Arsenic was used in Asian museums last century to prevent insects destroying the skins.

"So that means..."

"Collections like that don't sell their material. So, it means he must have stolen the skin, which is a very serious matter. If it became known, he would be refused permission to ever use a museum reference collection again, anywhere in Europe or America. It would end his career, overnight."

"What are you going to do?" I could understand why Ben was worried. On the one hand, he didn't want to destroy a man whose work he respects, on the other, well, he is still a cop.

"I don't know, Ray. I'll have to discuss it with the lieutenant. and the sheriff.  At the very least, the Field Museum should be alerted." He sounds regretful, like it's him who's dragging the scumball down.

"Ben, it's not your fault." He doesn't answer. We drive on in silence. It's getting dark, the setting sun hitting me right in the eyes, making it hard to see the dirt road, so I concentrate on the driving.

Suddenly there's a crack, and the car lurches. I can't control it, the wheel's bucking. I hit the brakes, but that doesn't stop us sliding. I see the tree coming at us, fast, and I only have time to yell Ben's name, before we hit it.

 

* * *

The excursion to the Ellermans had certainly turned into something unexpected. Ray's dislike of the man was unfortunate, although perhaps not unexpected, given the somewhat excessive display of taxidermy and Ellerman's slightly condescending attitude. However, as is so often the case, Ray's instincts are correct. Ellerman is a thief and a liar, knowledge I would be happier without, but which I cannot ignore. I am caught up in my musings, when, without warning, I feel the car go out of control. Ray desperately grapples with the steering wheel, to no avail. I brace for impact, and I hear him scream my name just as we connect brutally side on with the large oak on the side of the road.

The shock drives all the breath from my body, and I am stunned for over a minute before I can assess what has happened. It is Ray's side of the vehicle which has taken the brunt of the crash. I release my seatbelt, and lean over to him. Anxiously, I call his name, but get no response. There is blood on the side of his head - he must have hit it on the window. I undo his seatbelt, which, thank god, he was wearing, and try to check him as best I can without moving him. He comes to as I am gently testing his ribs.

"Crap, that hurts!" His voice is a little slurred, but he seems coherent.

"Ray, are you hurt anywhere else? Can you feel your legs, your hands?"

He winces, as he checks himself over.

"No, just my chest and my head. Everything else seems to be there. What happened?"

There's something I should recall, but I am too worried about him to think of anything else. "I don't know. We lost control. Do you think you can move?" I wait until he decides.

"Yeah - just about. Can't open the door this side. You?" I confirm that I can, and once I am reasonably certain that Ray can extricate himself without causing himself harm, I help pull him out my side. Once upright, he nearly falls, and as I lower him to a sitting position, he suddenly lurches over and throws up.

"Oh god," he moans. "Fuck, my chest. Ben, make it stop hurting, will ya?" I rub his back, and help him sit again. The head injury is making him dizzy and ill, although his pupils are normal. I need to get him to hospital. His ribs could be broken, and there could be other injuries I can't see. We need to get help.

"Did you bring your cell phone, Ray?" He nods, and pulls it out of his pocket. He lays down on his uninjured side, breathing hard, as I try to call Sheriff Welsh.

"No signal."

"Need to get out in the open," he pants. I look at him worriedly - perhaps I shouldn't have moved him. I am thinking of how I can safely leave him and find somewhere to use his phone, when I hear a vehicle approach. It's a small transit van, and to my surprise it's being driven by Scott Ellerman. He pulls over and runs to us.

"Are you hurt? What happened?" I explain the obvious, which is that we have had a car crash.

"Ray's hurt, Scott. We need to get him to hospital."

"Let's get you back to the house - we can call the air ambulance from there, to take him to the County hospital." There is no room in the small cab for Ray to lie down, and he is now unable to sit up easily or stand. I am now very anxious at the deterioration in his condition - his colour has gone, and he is breathing in short, rapid pants. We decide it would be best if Ray and I ride in the back of the transit, with me bracing and cushioning him against the road jolts. Scott has some old blankets which I spread out for him to lie on.

Ray wakes up again as we start moving. "Ben, where are we?"

"It's OK. Scott found us - we're going back to the Ellerman's house."

He lifts his head to meet my eyes.

"Don't think that's a good idea, Ben," he mumbles before his head falls, and he is again only semi conscious. I know Ray didn't care for Ellerman - or his son - but his words puzzle me. Just as I am puzzled by how our car could have suddenly careened off the road like that. It wasn't Ray's driving, I felt the wheel on his side give out. But they are all new tires, like the car itself. Thinking is rather difficult at the moment - I think I must be more shaken up than I thought. I rub my head and am surprised to find a lump - I must have hit my head too. I didn't notice. Perhaps I'm not in the best shape to help Ray, but soon, I know, he will be in good hands.

In twenty minutes, I feel the van slowing, and I know we have arrived. I shake Ray gently, and to my relief, he wakes. "Time to get out, Ray."

"Ben - tire shot. Heard it," he says in a tired whisper.

I look at him in shock. The door of the truck opens, and Scott is there to help me lift my injured partner out. I start to carry him over to the house. Ellerman runs out, and he is not pleased.

"Why did you bring them back here, you idiot?" His words send a chill through me. I look at his son, and am only slightly surprised to see an automatic pistol being pointed at me. Now I remember what I was trying to recall.

"Shut up, you old fool. You're the one who invited a fucking Mountie to tea, and his ex-cop partner. Knew I'd seen him before - you remember, that trouble they had with the Hawkeyes two years ago? It was these two - I know it was. You had to bring two cops in to see it all, didn't you?"

"Mr Ellerman, I assure you, we are just here for the weekend...."

"Shut up," Scott shouts at me. "Go and open up, _Dad_." He throws the older man a set of keys, and flushed with anger and fear, Ellerman takes them and opens the garage, which has a newish looking car in it. There is a door at the rear wall, which is surprising, as the size of the garage would indicate it backs immediately onto the mountain. Scott motions me inside, and supporting Ray, I go into the back of the garage and through the open door there. There are two entrances, one of which, I surmise, is the main storage area, and the smaller one, into which he forces us to go.

Scott tells his 'father' to search us, and unfortunately he finds my Swiss army knife. He removes Ray's cell phone, car keys and our wallets. He completes the task nervously - there is no doubt who is really in charge in their relationship.

I try one more time to convince Scott to let us leave.

"Scott, you can stop this before it goes any further. Ray needs a hospital - he could die. And we have friends who will come looking for us. Just let us leave - we could try and make things easier..."

"Shut up, you fuck. You get in there, and then later on, when it's nice and dark and quiet, you and me, we're gonna go on a little ride. Then you won't have to worry about things anymore. Move!" He pushes me in, and slams the door behind me. I hear him lock it, and more worryingly, lock and bolt the much more substantial door between here and the garage. We're stuck.

The room is a washroom, about five by seven feet, with a sink and a toilet, a small mirror tile on one wall with a towel rail. No window, just a fluorescent light overhead, and a small vent. The lock on the door is not just for looks, but could be broken down. This would serve little purpose but to gain us another couple of feet to stretch out in, since the main door is steel, and locked securely. However, my first thought is to get Ray comfortable. The bruising on his chest, and his head injury, have left him grey faced with pain. Unfortunately, the floor is concrete, and there is nothing to act as a cushion against it. I sit against one wall and ease him back onto me, wrapping my arms carefully around him. He has woken up again, but is still dizzy and slightly confused.

"What's happening... where are we?" He tries to sit up, but cries out in pain. I lower him back.

"Take it easy, Ray. We're at the Ellerman house."

"Not getting out?"

"No," I have to admit. "Scott ... he's locked us up."

He digests that information.

"We're fucked, aren't we, Ben," he says, dully. I rub his shoulders, but I can't think of an answer that isn't an outright lie. He knows as well as I do the chances of getting out, let alone getting out without being shot, are slim. Our best chance is that Lieutenant Welsh and his brother will find us, but they would have as little reason as we did to suspect the homicidal intentions of Scott Ellerman - or whatever his name is.

"Where there's life, there's hope," I tell him finally. A platitude for every occasion - that's the Frasers for you.

"You got a plan, then?" The hope in his voice cuts me like a knife - such naked trust in my abilities, which is so unjustified.

"No .. not right now. Let me think."

"We ... you could jump one of them."

"Unfortunately, Ray, I suspect that would get you shot."

"Better me than both of us," he says quietly.

Horrified, I tighten my grip on his shoulders, and forgetting his injuries, give him a shake. I feel him flinch as the movement hurts him, and I release him apologetically.

"What on earth makes you think I would agree to something like that, Ray? How could I possibly live with myself?"

"It's just an idea," he mumbles.

My blood runs cold at the image he has evoked, of him being trapped in this cold room, bleeding on the concrete floor.

"Ben? You OK?" he asks, croakily.

"I'm all right, Ray. We're both getting out, or neither of us will."

He grunts, which I suppose is agreement.

"Why?" he asks, suddenly.

"Why both of us? Or why are we being held?" He grunts again at the last option.

"I think we must have stumbled onto something bigger than a few stolen museum items." His mouth twists, and he gives me a look which tells me that I have just stated the exceedingly obvious. I ignore the non-verbal sarcasm. "This room and the one next to it are cut from the mountain side - you can't see it from the outside of the house. I suspect that Scott, and possibly Ellerman, are involved in the storage of illicit goods. For some reason, they think we're a threat."

"He shot the tire. I remember now - I heard the gun."

"I think you're right. I suppose he was hoping we might be killed outright, but he was waiting for us, there's no doubt." We fell right into the trap, but who would have suspected such a thing, out here. It is hard enough to realise that Ellerman is a thief, let alone someone who would condone the murder of two innocent men.

Ray sags against me more. Worried, I check him, but he is still conscious, with tight pain lines around his mouth. I stroke his hair, rub him gently where I can reach him without moving him. I hear him give a little sigh, but can't tell if I am helping him or not. I scan the room for possible weapons, and am lost in thought for some while, trying, without success, to think of some way of overpowering our captors. The trouble is, we're rats in a trap in this small room. There's nowhere to hide. If Ray were fit, we might have a small chance, but in his present condition, our options are non-existent. Returning to our present situation, I realise Ray has slumped more.

"Ray! Ray!" I nudge him gently. He makes a low wordless sound. "Ray, are you all right?" I put a hand on his face. It is cold, and clammy. Twisting, I can see his colour has got worse.

"Ben? My...my side hurts." He put his hand just under his ribs, and when I press carefully, he whimpers in pain. Oh god. All the signs are that he is becoming shocky, and the pain would indicate that he is bleeding internally. I have to get him flat, which means moving him. He cries out, but eventually he is lying with his legs raised on my thighs. Between the concussion and the shock, he is having trouble staying conscious. It is suddenly terribly important to me that he doesn't slip under, even though, without access to a hospital, his state of consciousness is a moot point - and if things proceed as threatened tonight, perhaps it would be better if he were not awake. Somehow I know that if he goes out, I won't be able to save him.

"Ray, try to stay awake."

"I'm cold, Ben."

"You're in shock, that's why. You have to stay awake, for me."

"Can't," he mumbles. "Keep talking. Tell me about when you fell in love with me." Despite the grimness of our situation, I have to smile. Ray is so child-like sometimes - I must have told him this a dozen times or more, but it's his favourite story. One that he often wanted me to retell during his recovery from the terrible attack and the nightmare plagued nights that followed. I manoeuvre myself, so that I am lying alongside him, my bent knees supported his raised legs, my arm under his head. This is better, I can warm him slightly and he is more comfortable. Should our captors return, it is an awkward position to rise from, but our advantage would be slight compared to the relief I can give Ray by being next to him like this. I hold his cold hand with my free one. I can hear his panting breath, see the sweat on his face. I force myself to keep my worry about him out of my voice. Nothing will be gained by transmitting my fear to him. Fortunately, my upbringing makes restraint of emotional expression automatic, and regrettably easy to achieve.

"Once upon a time..."

"Ben, don't tease," he mutters through his pain.

I relent.

"Oh, all right - spoil sport. It was just before the Henry Allen case, and you got so worked up about nothing whatsoever..."

"You wouldn't wait for backup, stupid..." His voice is sleepy. I squeeze his hand.

"Yes, I wouldn't wait for backup and you couldn't swim, so naturally, I asked you to jump fifty feet into the lake they call Michigan..."

"Naturally."

"And for some reason, this made you very upset, although I really don't know why - I mean, it was quite safe, and we did come out of it perfectly well...."

"Ben - get on with it."

"Yes, well, then you said you were going to hit me, and before I knew it, you did. And then I knew."

"Because I hit you." Even slurred, his voice sounds a little smug.

"Because you made me listen to you, and I realised I couldn't bear to lose you. And when you made me hit you back, I thought I would die."

"Wasn't fun for me, either, Ben."

I hold him a little tighter. "I know, but we got through it."

"Looks like we're gonna die together too, Ben," he whispers, his voice fading. His eyes are closed, so he can't see the pain his words, his failing speech cause me. I shake him again.

"Stay with me, Ray. Stay awake."

"Sing to me?" I know why he's asking me to do this. He's already accepted that we're going to die, and like the last time we thought we were facing death together, he's curiously peaceful and resigned. Of course, like the last time, he's half out of his head, which I suppose is a blessing, but his acceptance doesn't negate the fact that he's probably right. If only I had my Swiss army knife - I could have taken the towel rail off the wall, maybe ambushed whoever came for us. I am, by nature, an optimist, but also a pragmatist - right now, the pragmatist is winning the argument.

"Sing, Ben," he commands again.

"Do you want me to sing Abba, Ray?" He winces.

"Uh, no. Something else." So I sing, but because I know he could so easily fall asleep, I make sure he is either singing with me, or he has to ask the meaning of the French folk songs I dredge up from my childhood. Finding songs we both know well is a challenge which at least distracts me from my worry about him, and I am thankful that some of my erstwhile colleagues in the RCMP insisted on a constant background of radio music in the stations we worked in.  He mumbles rather than sings, but he does know all the words. One might think it almost amusing to visualise the picture we must make, curled round each other, whispering songs. But even as I nudge him and make him join in, he is getting weaker, and even as I sing to him, my heart is growing colder. I could lose him tonight. The thought of what that would mean for me is something I don't want to let myself contemplate. As Ray's voice grows softer and softer, pushing those thoughts away becomes impossible.

 

* * *

A local driver calls in the report of a crashed silver Ford to Wilson's trailer just around the time I'm wondering where the hell Fraser and Kowalski have got to - we're gonna hit the Sunday evening rush if we don't leave soon. We both know it's their car, and Wilson has me and Fraser's dog into his Jeep and off before two minutes elapse. The strange thing is that the caller didn't mention anyone being at the crash site. We find it easily enough on the mountain, with twilight falling. But there's no sight of the men. Diefenbaker is barking his head off, so there's no doubt they were there. Wilson calls in the crash to his office - his deputy can come up and deal with photographs and getting it towed back into town. The only lead we got is that we knew they were visiting this guy Ellerman this afternoon, so we head on up there. Ellerman's a queer fish and his son, well, he's just queer. They say that Fraser and Kowalski left two hours ago, and as far as they knew, were going straight back to Willison - even said they were going to meet me. Dief's still excited - but there's no surprise that he can smell them. We thank the Ellermans and drive back to town.

"Something's wrong, Wilson."

My brother can look pretty exasperated when he wants to. "And what would that be, Harding? - that we got a crashed car and two missing occupants, and no damn clue where they went? That's what they teach you up in Chicago?"

"Look, can the sarcasm - they're my friends, remember. The Ellermans, how well do you know them?"

"Old man Ellerman? Pretty well - I mean, I see him around, he's lived here for ten years or so. The son came to live with him about five years ago - don't see much of him."

"Is he really the son, you think."

Wilson has obviously not thought of that angle.

"Well, gee, Harding - a guy says, here's my son, you don't question it. I haven't seen a birth certificate."

"Something smells about him, I just know it. Something tells me he's lying." Going on a hunch I call the weekend team at the precinct and ask them to run a check on Scott Ellerman. I also ask Wilson what he's got in the way of manpower available - turns out it's me and him.

"Couldn't we go back for an hour or two? I think we should keep an eye on that house."

"Harding, I can't run surveillance on this guy because you don't like him."

"You got a better idea, little brother?"

He shrugs, and rings in his location to his office. We drive back along our route, park off the road, and walk back a way so we can get above the house. And we wait.

In half an hour, my people call me. Seems Scott Ellerman, aka Scott Morrison, is a bit of a naughty boy - done time for fraud, and smuggling. Nothing in the last five years. But he is not Ellerman's son. I look at Wilson.

"OK, so we wait. It's not like we've got any other leads." We settle in.

 

* * *

Ray has slipped into unconsciousness by the time I hear the outer door being opened, at ten o'clock. Part of me is glad, glad he won't know this is happening. The rest of me is pure despair. I stand up, ready to face what is coming.

The door opens. Scott is there, holding the gun.

"Get up."

"He's unconscious, I can't move him."

"Leave him then, I can shoot him here."

"NO!" I shout.

Scott grins.

"What's the matter, Mountie man? "Fraid I'll give your lover a poke before I kill him? How 'bout you let me do him - or do you? Maybe you'll convince me to let you live."

I know he's only playing with me. "No, you won't touch him." I grit out.

His face loses his smirk.

"Move him or leave him behind. Your choice. I can kill you both here, it's not that much hassle."

The idea of being shot like a dog - worse, letting Ray be shot like that, or worse - in this trap, goes against all my instincts. I carefully lift my partner into my arms, but even with that care, he moans in his sleep. Scott ignores it, and beckons me to move ahead of him, through both doors, into the garage. His van is parked just outside.

I walk as slowly as I dare. Ray moves in my arms, and I see his eyes open lazily.

"It's all right, we're on our way," I try to reassure him.

He smiles, but in a way that tells me he knows I don't mean to the hospital. Suddenly he whispers, "Drop me."

I start to shake my head, and he opens his eyes wider, his face grim, and gives me a little nod. Then he winks. 'Trust me,' he said once before. He's saying it again. So, God forgive me, I drop him, as carefully as I can, fake stumbling onto one knee. He coughs in pain, but I force myself to ignore that, to concentrate on the only thing that can save us, which is to whip round, unburdened, and catch Scott by surprise, kicking his legs out from under him. The gun goes off, wide, and I wrestle it from his hand, and throw it in my prone partner's direction. Scott is bigger than me, and stronger, but I am trained, and moreover, desperate and angry. I manage to overpower him quickly, knocking him out cold without a trace of regret for the damage I have caused him.

But as I turn back to Ray, I see we are not yet free. Ellerman has picked up his 'son's' gun, and is pointing it at Ray.

"Get up, Mr Fraser, or I will shoot him."

I stand.

"You'll shoot us anyway. And if you kill him, I will kill you with my bare hands."

"Why did you have to ruin everything?"

"You invited us, remember?"

"I'm withdrawing the invitation. Pick up your friend, and move."

"I think you're overlooking something, Ellerman."

He sneers. "I've got the gun, Mr Fraser. Do you want me to use it? I haven't overlooked anything."

"You've overlooked the fact that we have friends here. One of whom is pointing a gun at you. Nice to see you, sheriff," I nod at Wilson Welsh who has come up behind Ellerman, and now places his gun at the other man's head. Ellerman panics, and starts to pull the trigger, but before he can complete the action, there is a blur of white, and he is buried under seventy pounds of wolf. I ignore him - Welsh can deal with him. I drop down beside Ray, who is only semi-conscious.

"Oh, Ray, please stay with me." I look round desperately, and to my utter relief, see Lieutenant Welsh who had acted as his brother's backup. "Sir, Ray is injured. We need to get him to the hospital immediately." Welsh nods, and goes to his brother who is handcuffing Ellerman. He takes over, and asks the sheriff to radio for the air ambulance. I turn back to Ray. His eyes are open, just.

"Ben ... we're gonna go," he whispers.

"No, Ray, we're not, you're going to stay with me."

He becomes agitated, shaking his head.

"Gonna go to Canada... promise."

I stroke his damp forehead.

"Yes,  we promised. We'll go to Canada. Just lie still." He closes his eyes. Please get through this, Ray, I plead silently. We'll go wherever you want, if you just get through this.

 

* * *

My brother tells Fraser that the air ambulance will have to meet us further down the road - there's nowhere to land. Fraser looks kind of dazed, holding Ray's hand, stroking his face - I've never seen him when he looked so helpless. Kowalski passed out a minute or so ago - I have to say he does not look good. He's shocky, and the cut on his head looks bad. There's no time to ask what happened here, or to argue about what needs to be done. I commandeer Ellerman's car, and Fraser lifts Ray carefully onto the back seat, sitting there himself with his partner's head on his lap. Wilson will stay behind and tidy up the trash, and meet us later at the hospital. Neither of us speaks as I drive as fast as I can to the agreed meeting point, just beyond the site of their crash. The helicopter's there, and Fraser gets pushed aside while the paramedics hook Ray up to drips and backboards, before loading him into the chopper and carrying him off. They should be at the county hospital in 15 minutes - it would take an hour and a half by road, and by the look of him, Ray doesn't have that sort of time. Of course, Fraser can't ride in the helicopter. As we watch the chopper take off, he looks so lost, like he doesn't know where his next breath is coming from, and he certainly isn't capable of making any big decisions right now, like how to get to where his partner is. I drive him back to Willison, where I lock up and leave Ellerman's car, and Wilson's deputy drives us up to the hospital.

On the way I phone ahead, and learn Ray has been taken into surgery. Fraser rouses himself enough to thank me for the information, but other than that, he is like a zombie. Wilson will have to get a statement from him, but until we know how Ray is, I suspect Fraser won't be good for much. We get to the hospital, and provide Ray's details. When he is asked for Kowalski's next of kin, Fraser shows the first signs of animation. "I am his partner, his next of kin. It's in his wallet - sir," he turns to me, "Ellerman, he's got all of that, Ray's phone..." He's agitated - this is not the Fraser I know.

"Take it easy, Ben - I'll let him know.' Fortunately the hospital staff don't give Fraser any grief about the next of kin thing, especially as I back him up. But we still have to wait - all we are told is that Ray is still being operated on. During that time I learn one thing - Mounties do not cry. They have something in their eyes, they excuse themselves to wash their faces, their noses get very red and itchy for no apparent reason. But they do *not* cry.

Wilson turns up in little under an hour, and hands Ben their personal belongings.

"Fraser, tell me what happened - I have to charge them with something."

Ben's voice is frigid. "You can charge them with kidnapping and attempted murder for a start. Scott Ellerman shot out our front tire, that's what caused the crash. He persuaded me to bring Ray back to the house, and we've been there for over four hours. If anything happens to Ray..." His voice falters. Back to not crying.

I put my hand on Fraser's arm. "Ben, he'll be fine. Just tell Wilson what you know. The doctor will be out soon." Fraser drags his mind back to the preceding hours, but I can tell he's mostly still thinking about Ray. He tells Wilson that a search warrant will probably reveal the reason for the attack on them. Wilson has all he needs to charge the two Ellermans, and to obtain the warrant, and after making me promise to keep him apprised of Kowalski's condition, heads back to Willison. He'll return later.

Unfortunately for me, the task of keeping vigil is a familiar one. How many times have I sat with a cop's partner, or a wife or husband while we waited for news? The job's always the same - keep them together, feed them coffee, make sure they listen to what they get told. We have to wait another hour before finally, a woman wearing scrubs comes up to us. "Are you Mr Kowalski's next of kin?"

"I am. I'm Benton Fraser - his partner." Fraser looks at her, not daring to hope. She gives him a tired smile.

"He's out of surgery. We got him here not a minute too soon - there was a tear in the spleen which had been bleeding slowly. That's the worst of it, and it's repaired. We replaced the lost blood. He's broken two ribs - one was cutting into the spleen - and he's pretty bruised. The concussion is not too bad - we can keep an eye on him while he's recovering from surgery."

"When ... when can I see him?" Fraser's voice is very croaky, like his throat has become dry.

"In a half hour or so - we just have to bring him back to his room. Wait here and a nurse will come get you." With that she smiles at Ben again, and leaves.

Fraser sags back onto a chair. I can see he doesn't quite believe it, that Ray will be OK.

"It's over, Ben. He's all right." Fraser slowly turns his head and gives me a not-tear stained grin.

"Yes, sir. Understood."

We have to wait somewhat longer than half an hour. I hang back when the nurse finally comes to get Fraser and takes him to his partner, and wait a respectable ten minutes or so, before finding Kowalski's room. Ray's awake, but very pale and tired looking. His hand is resting on Fraser's head, which is in his lap. The Mountie's shoulders are shaking. Ray sees me watching them from the door. He looks at me, and then down at Ben, then back at me. I nod. I know when I'm one too many.

 

* * *

I'm awake, just, and getting my pulse felt by a nurse when Ben comes in. He looks like crap, real pale, but I am so glad to see him - I don't remember much about the taking down of the Ellermans, so I wasn't sure until now that he'd got out OK. The nurse leaves us in peace. Ben doesn't say anything, or even smile when he sees me - he just comes over, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me, on the lips, on the cheek, on the forehead, almost like he's trying to inhale me. His eyes are very large, wet-looking. I tell him to sit, and he pulls a chair over to the bed. All the time, he's staring at me, like he doesn't really think it's me.

"Ray..." he starts to say, and then, for the first time since I've known him, he starts to cry silently, burying his face on my lap. I am totally amazed, and a little frightened by the collapse of my strong, reserved partner. All I can do is pet his hair and whisper comfort. What happened today? I remember being in the little room with him, and singing, but not much else - I was pretty out of it. But Ben wasn't hurt, was he? And we're both OK - I mean, I've been hurt a lot worse than this, and survived. Welsh comes in at this point, but when he sees what's going on, he backs out. I know Ben doesn't want to be seen like this.

"Come on, Ben, it's OK." I feel him stop crying, but he won't look at me. "Ben? What's wrong?"

Then he lifts his head, and shakes it.

"Nothing... nothing's wrong now, Ray. You're alive," he says, still all sniffly.

"Yeah, of course I am. This is nothing. Been shot worse than this. We're OK."

"I'm sorry ... for falling apart on you like this...."

I put my hand on his cheek. "Hey, Ben - it's me. You don't have to pretend. You've had a rough day."

"Not as rough as you..." he starts to argue. The man would nit-pick at the door of Hell, I swear.

"Look, I was asleep for most of it - you got woken up with a blow job, then you lick a tiger skin or two, have to carry me around a _nd_ fight the bad guys, then you have to sit around in the hospital again, like you haven't done enough of that since we got together. And it's your birthday. So, you're entitled to cry. OK?"

He nods, and even manages a smile.

I keep my hand on his face, rubbing his cheek. "So what's freaking you out?"

"Nothing important." He sits up, wipes his face with a clean white handkerchief. "How are you feeling?" Change of subject. OK - I get the message - he was down, but now he's up, or at least that's what he wants me to believe.

"Sore, and my head hurts like a son of a bitch," I admit. "Any idea how long I got to stay in?" He says he doesn't know. Right on cue, Welsh comes back, with a doctor.

"How you doing, Kowalski?" Ben stands up. Straightens up. Tries not to look shattered.

"I'm good, Lieu. When can I get out?" I ask the doctor.

"I think we should say a week, to be safe, Mr Kowalski." I groan - I really hate fucking hospitals. Ben gives me a sympathetic look - he's had to listen to me on this subject before. "But right now, I think you should get some sleep." Welsh coughs, so we look at him.

"Ben, Wilson's back and he's gonna take me back to his place. Why don't you come with me?"

Ben is going to argue again about this, at three o'clock in the goddamn morning. Time for me to take charge.

"Ben, go with the boss, will ya? You look like shit, and I'm gonna be asleep. Come back tomorrow." He looks uncertain - he looks drunk on exhaustion. I nod at Welsh, and he takes my partner's arm. Fraser can't resist the voice of authority, but he breaks free long enough to give me a kiss, and to hell with who can see it.

"I love you," he says softly. I answer him by kissing him back, and stroking his cheek, before pushing him in the chest.

"Go, get to bed." I smile, and he smiles back. Welsh leads him away, while a nurse sorts out my bed, and I can finally put an end to this day.

 

* * *

I know Fraser - hell, I know cops and their partners - well enough that if I hadn't more or less frog-marched him out of there, he'd have slept by Ray's bedside all night, and then he'd have looked even more like death reheated in the morning. There isn't any need for it - Ray is out of danger, and he needs to rest more than anything. Ben doesn't put up much of a fight, except when Wilson and me try to talk him into staying at the town's only motel. "The tent is perfectly sufficient, sir." When he says that, I have to grin - it is the first really Fraser-like thing he's said since we'd found him and Kowalski. He is too whacked to shower, just crawls into the tent, and that is the last we see of him until morning.

There's a lot to sort out the next day - three places of work to be advised that due to unforeseen circumstances, an employee is unavoidably delayed. I suggest to Wilson that Fraser could really be of some use in helping them sort out the fallout from the Ellerman case, and in executing the warrant. Fraser's amenable, so long as he can see Kowalski, and as Wilson has to get Ray's statement, he drives us back up to the hospital late morning. Call me a romantic, but there's something really beautiful the way Ray lights up when he sees Fraser, and Fraser's grin is a picture too. Ray looks better, although he says he's sore, and moving towards bored and cranky. He's only slightly appeased when Fraser tells him his firm has been told and that they are fine about it. I think if he could have persuaded Fraser, he'd have signed himself out AMA. Fraser's not that stupid. When I tell Ray that Fraser was going to help in the investigation, he is suddenly interested, and switches to cop mode. Doesn't even realise he's doing it. Breaks my heart, it really does.

Wilson gets his statement, and after promising to return that evening, Ben leaves with us.

"He misses the PD, doesn't he?" I ask Fraser as we walk out to Wilson's jeep.

He sighs.

"Not the PD as such, sir - just the police work. He was such a fine detective - it's a waste." I've said the same thing to him in the past. There's not a damn thing we can do about it.

I call the Consulate on Fraser's behalf and persuade his boss that his constable is required in Willison for "liaising" purposes - not actually a lie, and it means he doesn't have to use his precious leave up to stay with Kowalski. Wilson arranges to meet his deputy up at the Ellerman house, and we begin our search. We start in the house itself, removing the suspicious tiger skin Fraser mentioned, and a few other stuffed animals he says are museum specimens. We suspect the library might not be kosher, but none of it adds up to a motive for murder. That, we find in the storeroom built into the mountain, next to where Ben and Ray were being held. Fortunately Wilson's got the keys from Scott Ellerman. The room is full of crates, large and small, and it stinks of badly cured leather, preservatives, and worse. Inside the crates are skins, bones, things made from animal parts. Nauseating stuff. We bag it all up and tag it - there's going to be a lot of work in sorting it out.

Ray is furious.

"You mean we nearly got killed over a bunch of animal hides?" he shouts, disregarding the small fact he's in a hospital. "I thought it had to be gold, or liquor - or something important. Jesus - fucking skins." He's disgusted, it's not risking his neck that bothers him, just that it's not important.

"Ray, I don't think you understand ..."

"Too damn right, Fraser!"

I step in. "Kowalski, if you could just keep your temper and your mouth under control for five minutes, your partner will explain." Ray clamps his lips together and gives me a glare that, over the years we worked together, has become very familiar to me.

"Thank you, sir. You see, Ray - what we have found is even more valuable than gold. The skins were from highly endangered species - golden monkeys, snow leopards, tigers. There was even a horn from a Great Indian Rhino - there are only a couple of hundred left alive in the whole world. It's utterly despicable."

"Yeah, so they're rare - so what?" He's interested, despite himself.

"There's a huge market for this material in the Far and Middle East. You can pretty much name your price - it's more lucrative than heroin. What we suspect is that Ellerman used his contacts with field workers and sources throughout Asia to obtain the material, and his 'son'," Fraser makes the quotes marks with his fingers, "was the distributor for it. We apparently stumbled across them just as they were about to make a major delivery. I'm afraid they saw my prior experience with the taxidermist and my interest in Ellerman's tiger skin as proof that we were on to them."

"So what gives with that, anyway?"

"That's a separate issue - either Ellerman is just congenitally dishonest, or perhaps used his other activities to obtain perks for the job."

"Maybe his 'son' knew he was a klepto, and was blackmailing him into it," Ray suggests.

I hadn't thought of that.

"That's definitely a possibility, Det.. . Ray." I could have bit my tongue off, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Knew that Scott creep wasn't his son - just damn well knew it," he says smugly.

"No, you were right," Fraser confirms. "He's Ellerman's lover, but he uses his name at times.

Ray leans back on his pillows - he's getting tired. Easy to forget he was in surgery less than 48 hours ago, when he's all fired up like this. "Good thing we didn't take Dief after all - they might have liked his fur."

"Yes, and you know, Diefenbaker has a great kinship with other wild creatures..."

"The one's he's not trying to eat...."

"No, even those. I think he would feel this keenly. I've kept it from him, you understand - to spare his feelings."

You know, the weird thing is that none of us see anything strange about Fraser's last statement. We have definitely been hanging around the Mountie too long.

 

* * *

I insist on being let out of hospital on Friday morning. Ben's been busy all week, helping the Sheriff clear up the Ellerman cache, working with the guys from the Field Museum who came down to catalogue the stuff, interviewing the suspects. It's a major bust - the haul is worth close to a million dollars. The lieutenant went back to Chicago for a couple of days but came back, with more clothes for Ben and to help his brother deal with the Feds, who got involved. It's a goddamn three ring circus, and I only get to hear about it when Ben visits me. He's really in his element, and I can't help being a little jealous. Still, being close to it is better than nothing, and getting sprung is even better.

Wilson Welsh comes up with his brother and Ben and Dief, to see me off. We shake hands in the hospital parking lot.

"Hope this hasn't put you off Willison, Ray."

"Nah, just off mad scientists."

"Think about those cabins, won't you?" I lie and say I will, but right now, all I want to do is to see the place we already own. He waves to us as we drive off.

Welsh is a decent driver, but it's still a hell of a journey - every bump pulls at my stitches and my broken ribs, and getting comfortable is a bitch. Ben's sitting behind me, so I can't even cuddle up to him, but he said that I'd be better off in the front. I'd have put up with a bit more discomfort just to be held by him. Dief whines a little from time to time - that wolf can read my mind.

Finally, we've said goodbye to Welsh, and Ben's got me to our own bed. He helps me undress and looks as if he's about to go and unpack.

"And where exactly do you think you're going?" I ask.

"I was just going to load the washing machine..."

"Siddown, Fraser," I bark, in as good an imitation of Welsh as I can manage. He lifts an eyebrow, but comes and sits next to me on the bed. I crook a finger. "Come here." He obediently leans towards me, and I grab his shirt.

"You," I kiss him, "are going nowhere." He finally gets my drift, and slides down beside me, and wraps his arms around me, careful not to bang the ribs or the incision. "Missed you, Ben. Missed this."

"Yes, " he says simply. We lie holding each other for a long time, until Dief reminds us both that he needs to go out. Ben sits up. He looks tired, even though it's only mid-afternoon.

"Helluva week, Ben." He nods. "But we're OK, aren't we?" He leans down and takes my face in his hands, rubs my nose lightly with his.

"Better than OK, Ray." He touches my lips, then kisses me deeply, hungrily, leaving me out of breath. He gets up and attends to the wolf, and the luggage and getting our lives back in order, while I lie and rest, and think of how much I need this man in my life.

The mellow mood doesn't last. It's a good thing Ben knows what a shitty patient I make, or I'd be divorced again by now. I try, I really do, but I can't stand being hovered over, and I can't make Ben understand that I'm not made of glass. Sure, the damn stitches pull, and the ribs hurt, but my legs aren't broken. I finally crack on Sunday afternoon. I say I'm going to make coffee, but before the words are out of my mouth, Ben is pushing me back on the chair and he's in the kitchen. That does it. I storm into the kitchen after him, snatch the kettle out of his hand, and fill it.

"Ray, I can..."

"No, Ben, _I_ can do it. You're driving me fucking crazy here!" I regret the words the second they leave my mouth, the more so because instead of snapping back, like I deserve, and like he would normally, he just moves back, and lets me stomp around making the stupid damn coffee. Like, it's so important that I have to hurt my partner for. I notice him watching me silently, with a hurt expression on his face. I feel like a piece of dogshit. You'd really think I'd have learn my lesson after what he went through when my hands were being fixed. Trouble is, when I hurt, I lash out. I'm a bastard - tell me something I don't know.

"Jeez, Ben - I'm sorry. You know me, I'm no good at this recuperation stuff."

"No, Ray," he says quietly, " I apologise. You did tell me. I'll leave you alone." Then he turns and walks out of the kitchen.

OK, who is this guy and what has he done with my lover? Ben is usually good with my tantrums - he either yells back until he beats me into submission by sheer reasoning, or he diverts the mood. This quiet acceptance is weird. I bring my mug and a cup of tea in for him. He thanks me politely.

"Ben...."

"It's perfectly all right, Ray - I do understand. You're in pain, and I've been overprotective." He's so meek, it's scary. I know this isn't an act - he's not trying to freak me.

"No, I was wrong. You know I'm an asshole, so just shoot me, why don't you?" The joke falls flatter than a lead balloon. His mouth goes tight.

"I would _never_ do that." He puts the cup down and walks out into the garden, leaving me to wonder just what the hell is going on.

He comes in an hour later, and for all intents and purposes, he's back to normal, although he's definitely out of mother hen mode. Something's wrong though - the playfulness is gone, and he's being very careful not to set me off. I try everything I can to get him to react normally, but whatever I try, joking, bitching, flirting, he's just quiet, gentle and serious. Not that this isn't nice, but it's not Ben - not all the time. Is it me? It can't just be me being in a bad mood earlier - he's seen much worse. Somehow, I realise, this is connected with the crying fit in the hospital. He's not saying anything though, and when I try to talk to him in bed that night, he distracts me by going down on me, which pretty much puts an end to all thought and all discussion.

Monday morning, he has to go back to work. When I tell him I'm going to cab it into my office for a few hours, he looks as if he's going to argue, but suddenly, like a light going off, he stops. He just wishes me luck, kisses me and goes.

Work is crazy - I couldn't have picked a worse time to be off for a week, something my boss wastes no time in telling me. Even though I was supposed to go early, it's five o'clock before I can finally leave, and I am way past my pain tolerance by the time I get home. Ben comes in just after I do, takes one look at my face, breaks out the pain pills, and sits and holds me until they start to work. It's so nice, I forget the strange mood he was in yesterday. Over the dinner we ordered from the local Italian restaurant, he unbends, has a rare glass of wine and tells a joke he heard at the Consulate. I insist on helping him clear up.

"Hey, Ben, I had an idea while I was in hospital." He looks at me, waiting for the great vision. "You never did finish teaching me how to swim, and with the summer being so hot and all - how about it?"

"That's not a bad idea, Ray - although we'll have to wait until your ribs heal."

"That'll be great then. You can practice your buddy breathing on me," trying to flirt - gets a grin out of him. "And if it don't work, it's a hell of a way to go." Fuck. Way to get a reaction. Ben's face goes white and the wine glass he's loading into the dishwasher snaps at the stem. He just stares stupidly at the cut on his hand, bleeding all over the floor. I have to manhandle him into the living room, get the first aid kit and patch him up. All the while he doesn't say a word, just looks at me with soulful, confused eyes.

I finish winding the gauze around his hand, then take the uninjured one and squeeze. "OK, Ben, whatever's going on in that bean of yours, spill. You're scaring the hell out of me."

He sort of shakes himself, like he's been in a trance or something.

"It's nothing, Ray - I just got distracted."

"Bullshit, Fraser. Look, I got an interest here. Every time we stop communicating, I get hurt - either you have to punch me, or I get kidnapped. This time I get hurt, and now you stop talking. Do you see a trend?"

The attempt at a joke gets nowhere. He just keeps looking at me, with an expression I don't recognise at first. But, then I realise, I know what it is - I've just never seen it on *him*. It's fear. Now what makes a Mountie - this Mountie - scared? Not me, I know that. Not danger - Jesus, I wish it did, he scares the hell out of _me._ The only thing that frightens Fraser ... is people. Relationships.

"Ben," I say carefully, "this is about us, isn't it - you and me? Something's happened." Ben moves so that he is holding the hand I was touching him with, and he rubs it with his thumb.

"I've... there's just some things I need to work out, Ray. Please don't concern yourself." Shit. Hate this. I can lay everything on Ben, and he'll carry me every time, but he won't let me help him, like it's a Mountie law or something, says you can't show weakness of any sort.

"Ben, don't do this to me. I had enough of this with Stella, not talking, not sharing. And look where that got us." That gets his attention. "Look, just tell me. I can deal with it, whatever it is." He leans back on the sofa, and I can see how tired he is. There are fine lines around his eyes that I haven't noticed before, and dark smudges under them. I urge him to move around, to put his head in my lap, and he turns into me, facing my stomach. Maybe because I can't see his face, that helps him talk.

"I thought ... thought you were going to die," he whispers.

"No, no I wasn't." I'm confused.

"But you might have, very easily. Scott was going to shoot us, and if you hadn't thought of a way to let me get him, we'd be dead. If things had taken a little longer, you'd be dead. I watched you that night - I thought I would lose you. And you wanted me to sing to you." His voice is a little muffled.

"I like your singing, Ben."

"Because you thought you were going to die."

"Yeah, sort of. Wasn't thinking too clearly, with the pain and the concussion and shit. If I have to die, I guess that's the way I want to go, with you with me, singing. But it was OK - I mean, I'm here, you're here. What's wrong?"

I really don't know what the problem was. Ben isn't the type to worry about things that didn't happen. Jeez, half the time when we worked together, it was me chewing his ass out over some stupid risk he took which nearly got us both killed, and all he ever said was, "It didn't, so why are you complaining?" or words to that effect, dressed up in Mountie-ese.

Ben is quiet for so long that I think he's fallen asleep, which would be awkward. But finally he sits up and looks up at me.

"I thought I loved you before. I thought I needed you before. But I was wrong." His quiet words are like a knife to the heart. Please don't let this be what it sounds like. But then he continues. "What I felt before... what I wanted before... is nothing, nothing compared to what I feel now." His eyes are swimming again, but he doesn't make any attempt to hide them.

I am struck dumb. He sounds like he's been told he has incurable cancer.

"Is loving me so terrible?" My voice sounds thick to my own ears.

"No, Ray - that's not what I meant. It's just ... I don't want to bring up Victoria, when you're everything she was not ... but that's the only reference point I have."

He looks at me, to get my permission to talk about her, and I nod. He sits back off me, so he's beside me on the sofa.

"I thought I loved her, I worried about her - I didn't want her to die in Fortitude Pass. And when she went to jail - because I put her there, I was so guilty. But even though I felt so strongly for her, that when she came back I would have done anything for her - it was still only part of me. There was the me who loved her, there was the me who was still a Mountie, there was the me who knew my duty. I thought of myself in these tidy little boxes, and they didn't overlap - well, not most of the time. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"You're saying she didn't change who you really are."

"Yes... yes, that's it."

I feel like a dog that's learned a new trick, but any smartass comment I was going to make dies when I see the misery on his face. "So, when you fell in love with me, it was the same?"

"No ... never the same. What I felt for you was so much more ... more everything, so different ... such a good feeling. But it was still in a box - the Ben who loved Ray. _I_ didn't feel I was different. Not all of me."

"And now?"

"And now ... I don't know who I am any more. All I know is that I am not the same as I was before. I don't know this me - the one who is afraid, who is needy. The one who wants to wrap you up in cotton wool and never let you out of my sight, because I am so worried. I know now that if anything happens to you, my life will be over. There will be no point in living. I feel there is no 'me' anymore. There is just an 'us'."

"Come here, Ben." He folds himself carefully into my arms.

"You think this is a bad thing? You don't think this is how I feel about you? Or that this is not how I felt about Stella?"

He stiffens. I've made a mistake mentioning her. "You felt this way - and you let it die?" he accuses.

I shake my head. "I didn't _let_ anything die. Stella killed it - it took years, it took the divorce, it took me meeting you, her marrying Ray Vecchio, having his kid. And after all that, I still love her. There just isn't an 'us' anymore. It hurt like hell, getting used to being 'me' again. I'm not going to go through that again."

"I thought love made you stronger. I felt so strong ... before." His voice has dropped almost to nothing. I forget how inexperienced he is. Fraser, who knows so many things, is a child in this love business. Dammit, he's making me cry.

"It makes you strong and it can destroy you. When I was with Stella, I felt I could fly to the moon. When she left, getting out of bed was a problem. Ben,  I will never leave you of my own free will, but you know it's either gonna be me or you go first. I'll always be able to hurt you more than anyone or anything else, and so help me, you can do that to me. I just don't want to live our lives ruled by that."

"Neither do I."

"Then don't. Forget what could happen. Just love me and fight with me and be with me until the last moment. If I go first, remember me, and remember our life together."

"I couldn't..."

"Listen to me." I hold his beautiful face in my hands, making him face me. "I'm not gonna ask you to make some stupid promise that if I die before you, you have to go on, no matter how you feel. When Stella left me, I came this close to eating my gun. And it was my choice - I had the right. But then I met you. If you think you can't live if I go, then do what you have to do. What happened this week was an accident - a freak. I don't want this to change things between us. I want you to love me, I love you teasing me, and telling me I'm a prick...."

"I don't..." At least outrage is better than self-pity.

"Yeah, well, you dress it up fancier than that, but you don't let me get away with jack shit. And that's the way I like it."

There's the tiniest smile dancing around his blue eyes. "You want me to call you a prick?"

"Don't get carried away, Fraser."

"You want me to tease you?" Definitely a smile.

"You never stop."

"You want me to love you?"

"Don't stop."

"I won't." He kisses me sweetly, gently. I kiss him back with more passion. I want him. He wants me, I can tell.

"Ray." His voice has dropped, gotten husky, and my dick twitches. "I think I should sleep in the spare room tonight - to spare your stitches." He looks very solemn, apart from the eyes.

"Benton Fraser, you are such a pr...."

"Language, Ray. Is this your way of saying you don't want me to sleep in the spare room?"

"Is this your way of saying you're back to normal?"

"Nearly. Give me some time. I won't go far away."

"As long as you come back to me. And you get your ass into bed and make love to me, right now."

"Bossy boots."

"That's really juvenile, Ben."

"Says who?"

"Says me ... Ben, put me down! I don't want you to...."

"Ray? Shut up."

 

* * *

Lying together, twined round each other, he whispers softly against my ear.

"I think I know who I am."

"Who is that, then?"

"I'm Benton Fraser, the man who loves Ray Kowalski."

"That must have come as a shock."

"Terrible. It might take me the rest of my life to get over it."

"Hope so, Ben."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written nearly twenty years ago under another pseudonym. It hasn't been revised since then.
> 
> I am posting this and my other stories from this period purely so people can read them if they choose. I won't be reading comments, and don't care if you leave kudos. I'm dumping them and running.
> 
> Having said that, I worked hard on them, and I hope they still entertain someone out there.


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